WHEN DARKNESS FALLS FROM THE WINGS OF NIGHT

The Day is Done, and the Darkness
Falls from the Wings of Night[1]

Esalen, 9/5/07

The air smells like honey and cinnamon (and also a little bit like rotting kelp). There is so much natural beauty and even that is accentuated with a subtle but sure hand. This morning a path of scattered red, yellow and pink rose petals led me to a Buddha statue. It makes you smile, these little unexpected things, here today and gone tomorrow. One day, succulent rosettes trace the edges of a redwood stump, another day, five browning eucalyptus leaves arranged in a pinwheel. You never know at Esalen.

Masks appear in an old oak tree, their faces twisted into shapes of old wizened tree men straight out of the Wizard of Oz. They're wise but not necessarily friendly. Keep you're eye on them.

Then there are statues and original art throughout the property. Some are fixtures, constants over the years, others new or temporary installments. Discovering these, placed here and there, can startle or amuse or bring such a joy that you feel your face spread into a large and sometimes gooney smile.

So it was that yesterday as I walked through the garden, as I had many times in the last few days, that through a bush, a glimpse of white plaster caught my eye. There at the base of the plant was the stark white figure of a headless woman’s torso.

This torso also had no arms; no arms attached that is. The two forearms (also shattered), were buried in the dirt (at the wrist with no visible hands).

Upon seeing the detached forearms a blast of adrenaline shot through me. The white plaster was the color of sun bleached bones. The way those limbs and head were broken off and the arms planted and head missing…said serial killer...said something wicked this way comes[2].

I stood before her with the expectation of delight, but there at the neckline it looked broken instead of designed. Art can be made to unsettle, part with convention, inspire or startle. It can make a statement, be a statement. This statement chilled me; made me think...maybe this wasn't part of the show.

Esalen is…oceanic bliss, bees and butterflies, flowered garlands and stained glass goddesses. It's lantern lined walking paths turn into bucolic evening invitations....a true land of fairies. But tonight, as a dusk turned into darkness, as I walked alone into the sunflowered gardens, I walked a little faster.

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[1] Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, poem, “The Day is Done”

[2] “Something Wicked This Way Comes”, novel by Ray Bradbury, 1998